She was sitting by a narrow lancet window, the pale light of the waning sun catching the gold in her hair. She didn't look like she belonged in a fortress of shadow. She wore a simple gown of ivory linen, her only adornment a small, silver locket at her throat. She was reading a heavy tome, her brow furrowed in concentration, but she looked up as the heavy iron door groaned shut behind me.
"You're the one," she said. Her voice was a soft, melodic contrast to the rasping echoes of the Spire. "The boy who looked at the sun and didn't blink."
I stood my ground, my hand instinctively twitching toward the place where a sword should have been. "And you are the one who watches from the heights. Are you part of the trial?"
She laughed, a sound so genuinely light that it felt like an act of rebellion in this place. She stood up, and I realized she was older than me—perhaps nineteen or twenty—with eyes that held a sharp, piercing intelligence. "I am Eve. And no, Adam Hilt, I am not your trial. I am merely the one tasked with making sure you don't burn out before the Baron is finished with you."
She walked toward me, her footsteps silent. As she approached, the Crimson Reverie in my chest—which had been jagged and defensive since my meeting with the Baron—suddenly smoothed out. It wasn't that she suppressed it; it was as if her presence acted as a grounding wire, pulling the static out of my magic.
"You're a Noble," I said, my strategist's mind already cataloging her posture, her speech, and the way she held her hands. "But your house is gone. You have the poise of an aristocrat and the eyes of a survivor."
Eve paused, her smile fading into something more contemplative. "You see quite a bit, don't you? My house was a casualty of the 'New Order.' My father believed in the old laws—in justice and the sanctity of the crown. The Baron... he believes in the future. He spared me because I possess a mind for the logistical arts that he finds useful. I am a captive, Adam, but a captive with a library."
"We are all captives here," I replied, moving toward the window. From this height, the thousands of tents below looked like a grey fungus spreading across the valley. "Some of us just have better views."
"There is a difference between serving out of necessity and serving out of ambition," Eve said, moving to stand beside me. She didn't look at the army; she looked at the horizon, where the first stars were beginning to pierce the twilight. "I've watched many men enter this Spire. They all seek the Baron's favor. They all want to be the wolf. But I haven't seen anyone carry the weight you do. You don't look like a boy seeking glory. You look like a man trying to outrun a ghost."
I turned to her, the Crimson Reverie flickering in my pupils. "Maybe I'm just a man who knows what happens to those who don't lead. I've seen the end of the road, Eve. It's cold and quiet. I'm not interested in visiting it again."
For the next several hours, we spoke. It was the first time since my rebirth that I felt I was speaking to an equal. She didn't talk of war or power in the blunt, crude terms of the soldiers. She spoke of the why. She spoke of the morality of a world that was being torn down to be rebuilt in the image of a single man.
She challenged me. When I spoke of the necessity of the Baron's ruthlessness to unite the fractured lands, she asked me what would be left to rule once the ruthlessness was finished. When I spoke of my magic as a tool for control, she asked me if I was the one holding the tool, or if the tool was the one shaping my hand.
"You have a gift, Adam," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as the shadows in the room deepened. "The ability to sway others, to make them see your truth as their own. But magic like that... it doesn't just change the world. It hollows out the heart. Every time you bend someone's will, you lose a piece of your own."
"It's a price I'm willing to pay," I said, though her words echoed the cold dread I felt every time my nose bled after using the hum.
"Is it?" she asked, reaching out. She didn't touch my hand; she placed her fingers lightly over my heart. "I see a light in you, Adam. A memory of someone who once believed in something more than survival. Don't let the Baron extinguish it. He doesn't want allies; he wants echoes."
Her touch was like a spark. For a moment, the icy walls of the Black Spire seemed to melt. I saw a flash of a life that could have been—a life of peace, of intellect, of purpose that didn't require a sword. It was the "Whisper of Hope" she carried, a belief that redemption was possible even in the mouth of the wolf.
But then, the iron door crashed open.
A group of the Baron's inner circle—men with pale skin and eyes like glass—stood in the doorway. "The Trials begin," the lead mage intoned, his voice devoid of inflection. "Adam Hilt, follow us."
I looked back at Eve. She was standing in the center of the room, the ivory of her dress the only bright thing in the encroaching dark. "Remember, Adam," she called out as I was led away. "The mind is the only kingdom that cannot be taken by force. Guard your borders."
As I was led down into the subterranean levels of the Spire, where the air was thick with the scent of sulfur and the screams of those who had failed before me, I felt a new sensation. It wasn't the cold ambition of the Baron or the frantic survival instinct of the recruit. It was a lingering warmth on my chest, where her fingers had rested.
I was a strategist. I knew that hope was a variable that could disrupt even the most perfect plan. In a world of shadows, Eve was a blinding light—and I knew, as I stepped into the darkness of the trials, that she was either going to be my salvation or the one thing that made me weak enough to break.